


Sharing space

by aki_penn



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Domestic, Drunk Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, Living Together, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-09 08:15:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20850308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aki_penn/pseuds/aki_penn
Summary: There had been about ten minutes of drama the first time he had stopped to sleep with her because he was convinced that he would not be able to sleep without his own pillow, but then it turned out that Lydia's chest was a great surrogate.





	Sharing space

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction in English. I'm not a native speaker, so be patient with me.   
There's not much to say about this story, it's a furure!fic without pretension and without much plot, basically you could summarize it all in 'drunk!Stiles'. I always accept comments and criticism, if you have to throw tomatoes, throw them slowly, I have sensitive skin!

Lydia tried to stick the key in the keyhole without checking it was the right one, obviously it wasn't. She puffed and tried again, checking before it was the one that would permit her to enter her studio. To her great relief, the chosen one came in, but she didn't have time to turn her around because something heavy leaned against her back and pushed her forward. Her forehead banged against the white wooden door, and her cheek immediately afterwards leaned on it with little grace.   
Lydia squinted her eyes and growled, "Stiles! Stand up!”  
The weight immediately came off her, followed by a whining and a sound of rubber soles crawling on the marble.   
Lydia, still with one hand grasping the key, turned to look at Stiles, who had moved a little further away and looked at her amused.   
He had his shirt untied almost to the middle of his chest, his jacket crumpled and his tie untied hanging from his neck. His cheeks were red, his eyes glossy and his hair messed up. Lydia sighed, "I didn't need to be taken home."  
"I just wanted to make sure you got here safely," he commented, with a big smile. Lydia raised her eyebrows, visibly annoyed. "I believe that under these conditions you could have fallen victim to any low-middle level criminal. I'll never let you drink again," she blurted, looking him in the eyes.   
Her hair was also a tangle of knots, because - in the middle of the evening - Stiles had decided that he wanted to braid her. Lydia had slapped him on the hands and moved away, but there was no way in hell to let him keep his hands in place.   
She sighed heavily while Stiles was frowning. "I'm sorry," he whimpered, taking two steps forward. "I didn't want to make you angry," he said, before losing balance again and ending up on her, again.   
"Stiles!" she exclaimed, as they both ended up back against the door, with a thud.   
The anger strategy didn't seem to work. Lydia raised her eyebrows and sighed with difficulty, as he was heavy on her and with his lips resting on her ear he asked her if she was really so angry at him.   
"It's all right, Stiles, but now move!" he prayed, holding her fingers against the door and her other hand open against his chest. The key was stuck in the keyhole and pressed against her back and hurt her.   
"Are you angry?" sighed to him, in pain, taking another few steps back.   
"Yeah, I mean, no... just stay put and let me open the door. You don't have to puke, do you?" he ascertained, looking at the key that was turning in the patch and then again him, vaguely hostile.   
Stiles shook his head and giggled, "I'm great! I'm always fine, if you're okay" and he took a few steps backwards again, to keep the balance. Lydia spun her eyes exasperated, that night was really just missing the drunken pick-up lines.  
She sighed and finally opened the door to her studio apartment.  
"Come on, get in," she said, setting aside to let him pass. Stiles obeyed, quietly, and then planted himself in the middle of the door to stare at her.  
"What?" she shouted, bothered. Her shoes hurt, she wanted to take off both her shoes and her dress. The bra squeezed her breast too much, the makeup burned her eyes, it was late and she wanted to go to bed and Stiles was stalling on her mat. For a second he was tempted to leave him out or call the sheriff to ask him to come and get his son back.   
"You are very beautiful" he decreed with the trailed voice of those who drank a lot. Lydia nodded, not greatly appreciating the compliment, but said "Thank you, Stiles. Now get off that", she grabbed him by the sleeve and dragged him into her own home, and then finally managed to close the door.   
"So, go brush your teeth and put on your pajamas," she ordered, while he took off his tie and left it on the ground.  
"And take off your shoes before you go to the bathroom," he added, before Stiles took her face in his hands and kissed her with the arrogance of a child who distributes kisses with tight lips.   
Lydia muttered, unable to escape such enthusiasm and both staggered back at the door with a bang.   
With an upset whining, she forced him away from herself, resting her hands on his cheeks and pushing him back. "Stiles, don't make me angry. It's late and you're really drunk, go brush your teeth and put on your pajamas!  
"Did I make you angry again?" he asked, worried. Lydia clenched her teeth and refrained from punching him in the nose.   
"No, Stiles. Go brush your damn teeth!" she ordered, in a controlled voice and a plastic expression. He nodded with a low gaze, taking a couple of steps back, taking off, with little grace, first the crumpled jacket and then the shirt, already half unfastened and dropped both of them on the ground without too much care, and then headed to the bathroom, shaky on his legs.   
Lydia, who had not yet had a chance to take off her high-heeled shoes, jumped forward and grabbed him by the ear, as if he were a preschooler "Stiles! The shoes before going to the bathroom!" cried.  
"What shoes?" he bawdled, caught off guard, unbalancing himself backwards and not ending up on her for the umpteenth time by pure miracle.   
"Yours! Take off your shoes, before going to the bathroom!" she shouted, exasperated. Stiles finally obeyed, silent, as she passed a hand on her forehead. She wrinkled her eyes, forgetting that she was wearing makeup and dirtying her fingers with mascara.   
She sat on a kitchen chair to unbuckle her high-heeled boots. Removing them was a liberation, as well as placing the soles of his feet on the cold floor.   
She gave a long sigh looking at her own house, illuminated only by the small lamp in the entrance.   
It was a nice place, for a studio apartment: there was a small area for lunch and then, hidden by a low wall, where Lydia kept the fruit bowl and some old magazine, the bed. At the back was the bathroom where Stiles had just disappeared, leaving behind a trail of crumpled clothes.  
The trousers were also on the floor, despite the fact that Lydia had not seen him taking them off.   
She leaned her back against the chair and closed her eyes for a second, knowing full well that this would take her even further away from the moment when she could actually sleep.   
"What should I use to brush my teeth?" said Stiles, from the bathroom. Lydia didn't even bother to open her eyes to answer, "With the toothbrush and toothpaste, Stiles. Yours is the orange one."  
"There's no orange toothpaste."  
"The toothbrush is orange, not the toothpaste," continued Lydia, who was about to give in to her sleep sitting on the kitchen chair.   
"I can't find it."  
"It's on the sink, just like usual," she said, in a whisper. There was a crash and a sound of something breaking and Lydia jumped, opening her eyes.   
"Are you all right?" she shouted, standing up so fast that, for a moment, her sight went away.  
"Yes, but I think I broke something..." replied Stiles, worried "even if I don't know what".   
Lydia sighed and leaned against the wall where she kept the fruit bowl "I hope for you it's not my favorite perfume!" she shaken, exasperated, before turning around to pick up Stiles' clothes from the ground, and then throw them in the basket of clothes to wash.   
In theory, Stiles didn't live with her, in practice he did. He had his own toothbrush in the bathroom, his own towel and his own part of the bed, the one furthest from the front door.   
There had been about ten minutes of drama the first time he had stopped to sleep with her because he was convinced that he would not be able to sleep without his own pillow, but then it turned out that Lydia's chest was a great surrogate. Anyway, the favourite pillow was taken straight after to the studio and this prevented Stiles from going back to sleep at home. He kept paying rent for his apartment, but never stayed there.   
Lydia had also provided him with a copy of the keys, to remove both of them from the embarrassment of forcing Stiles to make his own bunch of keys, as he had done with Scott's house keys.   
Basically, Lydia and Stiles lived together.   
Lydia unbuckled her thin belt and slipped off her flower dress from her head, distractingly placing it next to the fruit bowl. She also slipped off her bra, frantically looking for the hooks with her fingers and sighed for relief when she finally felt that it was no longer pressing under her breast.  
She raised the pillow and took out the top of her pyjamas. She put it on quickly, wondering where the hell her pants were.   
"Stiles? Are you ready?" he called, raising the blankets keeping looking.   
"I brushed my teeth with a blue toothbrush" commented an amused voice belonging to someone who took a drop too much. Lydia turned to look at him and found him completely naked, with his legs apart and his hands on his hips, looking at her.   
she opened her lips and gasped, undecided about what to get angry about first. "Where did you put your panties?" she asked, leaving the blankets behind and getting closer to him, walking on tiptoe because the floor was cold. She didn't want to go and retrieve them in the toilet, on the window sill or hung on the neighbor's wire for hanging clothes.   
"I don't know" he declared amused, before kissing her again. This time with her mouth open, she did not oppose resistance, far too tired to ask him again to put on his pajamas. A moment later they were staggering again and Stiles fell forward, crushing Lydia underneath him, who delivered a frightened scream, falling by surprise on the unmade bed. Stiles inadvertently gave her a warhead and she shouted a very sharp 'Ouch!'.   
He squeezed his eyes and got upset, and then immediately began to apologize, incredibly mortified.  
Lydia stretched out her arms and muscles, finally comfortable after so many hours of standing. Stiles was still weighing on her, but it was something she was used to and quite pleasant.   
They looked into each other's eyes and he seemed to regain some lucidity "I know I bothered you tonight. I'm so sorry," he sighed, with his eyes shiny, staring at her with his lips tight.  
"I swear I'll get up early tomorrow and make you breakfast," he promised.   
Lydia sighed and looked into his eyes for a long time, making a grimace. "Well, if you want, you can make it up to me now, too," she proposed. Stiles looked at her with glassy eyes, still lying on top of her, propped up on his elbows to look her in the face. Lydia seemed pretty amused by the situation, for the first time in the whole evening, with Stiles lying naked on her.   
"Do you think you can find my clit?" she asked, interested.  
Stiles raised his eyebrows and looked left and right, undecided, and then looked her in the eyes with a gleam of seriousness and nodded seriously, while Lydia slipped her fingers through his hair and pulled them a bit.  
"Yes, I think... I can find it," she agreed.  
"Great!" she agreed, pulling his hair until she pulled him over and kissed him on her semi-open lips.   
"Make me happy..." she said in a funny sigh on his mouth.   
Stiles propped himself up again on his elbows and stood at attention like a soldier, with his hand held out on his forehead, "Yes, ma'am!". Lydia, still with her hand in her hair, did not push him down again. 

When Lydia woke up the next day, Stiles slept open-mouthed with his head on her shoulder and probably drooled a little. Lydia couldn't tell how her pajama pants had ended up on him, but she preferred not to wonder too much.  
She squeezed her eyes and passed a hand through her hair without moving too much to not wake Stiles up. Her eyes burned, and in the end she hadn't removed her makeup or brushed her teeth. Before she went to sleep, she could barely get her underwear back on and take her shirt off. Stiles' hand, by the way, rested on his abdomen, under her pajamas.   
Suddenly she frowned, looking up and noticing a plate above the low wall that divided the living area from the bedroom, next to her flower dress. That in the air was undoubtedly the smell of coffee and, less strongly, pancakes.   
"Stiles?" called, this time absolutely disinterested in the idea of waking him up.  
Stiles muttered, keeping his eyes closed and making his tongue snap.  
"Have you made coffee and breakfast?" he asked, in a loud voice. She was completely awake now, even though her eyes were burning like hell.   
Stiles grunted again and then bawdled, "I got up an hour ago. Now the coffee would be..." he sighed, keeping his eyes closed "...cold".  
Lydia raised her eyebrows and moved her left arm up to his head, to caress his hair with tenderness.  
"Well, then you can stand up and do it again," he proposed, with a smile that he couldn't see.   
"Yes, ma'am," he bawdled, before starting to snore again with his head on Lydia's shoulder.


End file.
